


Regret

by HiddenDirector



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 05:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenDirector/pseuds/HiddenDirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after the events of Dragon Age II, Viscount Hawke is still being haunted by the hardest decision he'd ever had to make.  Fenris must never know what happened between him and Anders.  It was one night, one mistake, and a lifetime of regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hawke, Anders, Fenris, or any person, place, or thing involved in Dragon Age. It all belongs to Bioware. Though technically, I suppose I do own this version of Hawke, but only because that’s how the game is played.

Silence filled the Hawke Manor as its residents slept in peace. Lance shifted and pulled the sleeping elf in his bed closer. The Champion muttered something and gripped the bedding on the other side of him, gritting his teeth. In his dreams all he kept seeing were explosions, sad amber eyes and the slicing of steel. Then there was blood, so much blood on his hands…

“Hawke…?” Fenris felt the arm around him tighten almost painfully and awoke. He glanced behind him and found tears falling from his lover’s eyes as his body shook with sobs. “Hawke!” he called, turning around with some difficulty. He placed a hand on the red-head’s shoulder and shook him. It was gentle at first, but when it didn’t succeed in ending the nightmare that had taken him he began doing so more violently. “Hawke, wake up!” he demanded.

“ _No!_ ” Lance finally shot up violently, almost head-butting the dark-skinned elf in the process. He sat breathing heavily, covering his face. After a moment of silence in which only his desperate gasping for air was the only sound, Fenris reached forward and took his head in his hands. He drew it down so that his face buried into his shoulder, sobs wracking the larger man. “Fenris… by the Maker, Fenris…” he sobbed.

“I know. It’s alright. Just a nightmare, shush…” Fenris didn’t know he was capable of such comfort before Lance had become the new Viscount. The job itself was stressful, with the need to choose a new Knight-Commander and First Enchanter, rebuild the new Chantry and everything that was destroyed in the grand battle which had taken place only three months previous, and battling off those who questioned whether or not he had the right to take the position. However, he knew this wasn’t the problem. What plagued him were the nightmares about the single hardest decision the man ever had to make.

“It wasn’t a nightmare, Fenris, it was punishment,” Lance shuddered, tears running down his lover’s darkened skin. “The Maker is punishing me for what I have done by forcing me to relive it over and over…”

“Hawke. Lance,” the elven warrior pulled the man off his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. It was hard to see him like that. Lance was a pillar of strength for most people. He was kind and fair, and always did what was right. He stood by everything he did, even having turned against the Circle despite his sister being a part of it because he knew their rebellion would only cause more death. Bethany was aghast that he would turn on her at first, but when she saw the horrible things Orsino was willing to do she realized that her brother had been once again in the right. However, the one thing he questioned that he did, the one thing that he never could live with himself for, was that which drove him to his nightmares. “You did the right thing by slaying Anders. He blew up the Chantry, killed innocent people. And Sebastian would have marched his army upon the city if you didn’t.”

Lance shook his head. He never believed that. Sebastian was his best friend. “He was simply angry when he said that. I didn’t do it because of that.”

“Then why? If you truly believe what you did wasn’t right, then why would you have killed the mage?”

“Because there was too much risk,” the Viscount whispered. “His mind was already taken by madness. He said it himself; there was no discernible difference between him and Justice anymore.” He leaned forward and placed his forehead against Fenris’s. “I don’t believe that Anders was capable of what he did. But with Vengeance’s influence driving him mad, he felt as if he had no choice.”

“That is why you did it,” the elf encouraged. “Because he could no longer discern right from wrong.”

“He could. You weren’t looking at him as I was after his plan was fulfilled. He was so… remorseful for what he had done. There was so much sorrow. He knew that he had killed innocent people and he was truly sorry for it.” Another tear strayed from his right eye and trailed down his cheek. He couldn’t stand it, having to imagine that moment again even while awake. “He knew it was wrong, yet was compelled to believe it was the only way to do right.”

“Hawke…”

“Killing him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. He didn’t deserve death. He needed help.”

“He was _mad_ , Hawke. Placing him in a Circle would only have endangered those around him more. The only other option would have been Tranquil-“

“No!”

Fenris was startled as Lance shoved him away, landing on the bed. It hadn’t hurt, but the Champion had never done anything such to him before.

“Do not even… I cannot stand to even imagine what would have happened! Justice would have been provoked, would have hurt them! And even if they did not kill him, who knows what would have happened if they succeeded in performing the Rite upon someone whose mind was shared with a Spirit?”

“Lance, calm down!” Fenris snapped. His patience was tested when Lance began talking nonsense. “You are panicking over something that could never happen! Anything that could have happened is irrelevant, he is dead and you are-“

“Do not act as if you understand!” the man snapped. Once again the elf recoiled. The red-haired man only ever lived to make him happy. He’d never yelled at him, let alone argued, before. But Lance was more right than Fenris would ever know. The elf warrior would never understand how truthful his words were. After all, before everything had happened he had visited Anders one last time. And what could never happen was precisely what they had discussed.

 

_::THREE MONTHS PREVIOUS::_

“Anders!”

“Ah, Hawke, just the man I was looking for!”

Anders waved the last patient in his clinic out, shutting the doors. This was very unusual, as the doors to his home were always open to those who needed it. Lance was sure he wouldn’t turn anyone away should they arrive, but this must have been something of the utmost importance. Perhaps more about his plans to release the mages of the world. The apostate knew the Champion was uncomfortable with his constant requests to help him on his unobtainable goal.

In fact, Lance was perfectly happy with having Circles. He was more comfortable with Bethany being in one than running around as an apostate. It wasn’t that he thought that mages were inherently dangerous or evil, but there was simply too much risk to let that kind of power run free. He was glad that she was adjusting well to it herself. But Anders would always find some kind of spin on it that made Lance feel as if helping him was for the good of everyone – even if it involved making Fenris angry and unavoidably killing Templars.

“Alright, Anders, what did you want to discuss?” Lance asked, leaning on a support beam. It shifted a bit under his weight and he let up, feeling unnerved by it. Obviously there was some long overdue work that needed to be done down there.

“I have a bit of an… unusual question for you, Hawke,” the mage moved closer to him, looking nervous. “That is, I wouldn’t usually be asking you this sort of thing, but I…”

“Take your time, Anders,” the red-head smiled. “Whatever it is, we’re not in any hurry. Just start from the beginning.”

“Yes, the beginning, that’s a good idea,” Anders took a breath. He looked to the ceiling. “How to explain this without being awkward. Which I’m probably being. Sorry.” After a moment he let out a laugh. “Great, I’m starting to sound like Merrill.” He glanced at his companion who waited patiently. “Sorry. Anyway, I guess the best place to start is by asking… okay, there’s no sensitive way to say this so I’m just going to. Fenris still isn’t speaking to you, right?”

Lance cringed. He was right, that was rather insensitive to ask. Fenris indeed continued to stubbornly discredit any evidence that he and Hawke shared any kind of feelings, let alone a night together. For the sword-and-shield-barer, it was painful. He loved Fenris and wanted nothing more than to spend his life with him.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Again, I’m very sorry. I was just thinking, though, with how much you’ve helped me over the last few years… I mean, you never had to, and I know you don’t like some of the things we’ve done, but…”

The Champion started to detect where this was going. “Anders, no. I know what you’re getting at and… no.”

Anders looked sheepish, a strange look for him. “I know I’m not your first choice. Flames, I know who yours is. But he’s so deep in denial you’d need a steel-threaded line to fish him out of it. I just thought… since he won’t pay you any attention, and I just…” He started fumbling over his words, covering his face with a hand. “This was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Lance said gently, stepping forward and placing a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You’re just lonely.”

“I am. You’d think with something else having merged with me, and all of the people down here that need me, I never would be.” He reached up and placed a hand on Lance’s cheek. “And then I see you, and how lonely you are even when Fenris is around. If he can’t appreciate you, then how can he deserve you? You need someone to come home to. Someone who will listen when you’ve had a long day wiping the world clean of evil and dealing with bureaucracy. I was a Warden; I know what both are like.”

Lance chuckled. He had to admit, having another person show him such tenderness and affection was nice. A far cry from Fenris, who was cold and distant towards him. “You’re an extremely caring and attractive person, Anders,” he told him, reaching out and taking his face in both hands. The dusting of whiskers covering Anders’ face was soft on his rough hands. His own mustache and goatee were being explored by the mage’s thumb. “I’m sure there’s someone out there who would be good to you. But I’m not him.”

“I know.” Despite their words, Anders drew him down into a kiss, running his tongue along the warrior’s bottom lip. Instead of further discouraging him, Lance opened his mouth and wrested the tongue with his own. After a few moments the need for air overtook them and they parted, panting and staring at each other. Their cheeks were tinted red and a string of saliva broke after they parted.

“This is wrong,” Lance said, bypassing the mage’s face this time and pulling his robe open, attacking his neck with his tongue and teeth.

“I know,” the apostate repeated breathlessly. His fingers entwined into red hair, encouraging him.

“We should stop.” His voice was muffled against Anders’ skin, biting and sucking on the tender flesh of his neck.

“Please don’t,” Anders moaned. He pressed himself against the other man, breathing heavily. “Stopping would be… very bad…”

“Just this once,” Lance was telling himself more than the mage. He guided their bodies until he had the blond pressed against the support beam he’d been leaning on earlier. It shifted again, but this time he didn’t care. He was tired of repressing himself, of ignoring his own needs for three years. He knew it was wrong to take them out on Anders when his heart belonged to his stubborn elf, but he deserved to be happy, didn’t he?

It took a lot of effort to get his armor and Anders’ robes off. Both were on there quite tightly, and required no small amount of straps and buckles. But once they were both standing there in naught but their skin they were once again upon each other like hungry beasts. Lance was pretty sure the cot they found themselves on wasn’t designed for the strain of violent sex, but he also found he didn’t care. For he was desperately heated, and Anders was beautiful and welcoming. The crevices inside of his body were hot and tight, providing much needed comfort.

The mage cried out and grasped the furs serving as blankets, panting loudly. He was accommodating and thoughtful, providing the lubricant that allowed for such ease of passage into his confines. He did whatever he could in his power to service the warrior, wanting them both to feel the pleasure they desired. They kissed and groped and stroked, feeling the fire building and spreading between their loins, desperately seeking release yet dreading the end.

Hawke came first, emptying his seed into the mage’s gut with a cry. It was a long, satisfying climax, Anders pressing back against him with a moan. Once he was done he removed himself from the blond, a trail of stickiness following, and got to work at once making sure his yet-to-come climax was just as fulfilling. They stroked him together, tongues once against dancing, Lance’s free hand tracing patterns across the pale skin. Milky beads soon erupted from him, covering the mage in his own seed. The entire time that he came, Lance stroked and kissed him, wanting him to feel loved.

As they lay in each other’s arms, simply being like that for the sake of not being alone after such a show, Lance stared at the ceiling and pondered what he had just done. Despite Fenris’s insistence that they were in no relationship, he still felt as if he had betrayed him. His heart tightened and he let out a sigh. Anders didn’t offer as much resistance has he expected to the untangling of limbs as the warrior pushed himself off of the cot. He was unsurprised when the blonde’s arms wrapped around his waist from behind, face nuzzling into the small of his back.

“Please, Lance,” he made one last plea. “Fenris doesn’t deserve your love. Doesn’t _appreciate_ it. He doesn’t _need_ it. But I do.”

Lance sighed once more, turning and kneeling next to the cot the mage lay upon. He kissed him one more time, smiling gently. “Yes, he does. He’s lost and lonely and vulnerable. Just like you. But unlike you, he doesn’t have people who need him in return. You have many people down here that look to you for guidance and healing. And you have Justice,” the red-head poked Anders on the forehead. “And you told me of your cat, Sir Pounce-a-Lot, waiting for you back home. You have so many people who need you and love you.”

Anders’ eyes lowered. “Well, when you put it that way,” he muttered bitterly.

“Don’t look like that,” Lance whispered, lifting his face with a finger under the mage’s chin. “I meant it when I said there would be someone out there who could truly love you. And again, you are not as alone as you think you are. But Fenris… he doesn’t have anyone. He needs me, whether he wants to admit it or not. It’s not that he doesn’t love me, simply he is afraid to. He’s afraid I’ll hurt him, or even more sinful to him that he’ll hurt me.”

The apostate thought over his words and nodded, conceding defeat. “Then I had no chance from the beginning.”

“I’m sorry, Anders. I love you, I really do, but not the same way I love him.”

“I understand. Perhaps you’re right. I’ll just have to wait for my prince to sweep me off my feet and carry me into the sunrise.”

“There’s the sarcastic apostate I know. You’ll be alright.”

 

:: _END FLASHBACK_ ::

 

Fenris waited for a while as Lance was deep in thought before deeming it safe to move towards him again. When he placed his hand upon the human warrior’s shoulder blue eyes turned to him. Even though the tears had stopped, he still looked so sad. So he took a deep breath and prepared to try again.

Lance beat him to the punch, though. “Did I save you?”

The elf looked taken aback. “From what?”

“…I don’t know. Yourself, I suppose. What was it Flemeth told you? The bonds were cut yet you were still a slave or something like that?” He wrapped his arms around Fenris’s waist and buried his face in silver-white hair. “I think she meant that you were… trapping yourself? Does that make sense?”

Fenris didn’t know how to respond to that. He never really thought of it before. “I suppose… yes, I think you did. When I finally found that I couldn’t deny how I felt for you anymore, it felt like something was lifted from me.”

Lance smiled, rubbing his lover’s back in long strokes. “Good.” He went silent again, looking out the window. He hoped Fenris would never know what transpired between him and Anders. Never had to know why he felt tormented thinking back on what could have never been, but there were times he guiltily wished was. Of what his last words were as he leaned down to slit the beautiful throat where he could still see the mark he’d left.

:: _THREE MONTHS AGO_ ::

_‘I’m sorry, Anders…’_

_‘I’m not. Just carry me into the sunset.’_

He had. That night when they were cleaning bodies off the street, bathed in the setting sun, he managed to break away from the others and find his way back to where they had left his body. And ever so gently, he had lifted the mage into his arms and carried him towards the dock. There, he watched the sunset as blood ran down his arms and chest. Even with his neck sliced clean open, eyes closed in peaceful death, Anders was beautiful. Once the sun had dipped into the ocean Lance sat and held the apostate he called friend, and for one brief day lover, and he cried. Wept for the friend he lost, the life he had selfishly taken, and the love the blond would never feel again.

“Lance?” he didn’t turn around when he heard his sister’s voice. “Oh, Maker, Lance…”

He just shook his head. He didn’t want to hear how pathetic he looked, crying over a murderer’s body after having been given the highest honor in Kirkwall. After coming to an understanding with Fenris and finally becoming lovers as they were supposed to. He should have been happy.

“You made a choice.” That voice he _was_ surprised to hear. Merrill walked forward and sat next to him, placing a hand on Anders’. Lance never got along well with Merrill. When they first met he tried to be understanding of her strange ways and culture. Of the fact that she was an apostate by custom. But when he found out she was a blood mage, that she was dealing with forces beyond her control…

“I made the right choice,” Lance insisted, tears falling upon the blond mage’s body he held in his lap. “So why does it feel so wrong?”

“I will not say I agree with your choice,” the elf woman told him.

“ _However_ ,” his sister spoke up, sitting on the other side of him, “We both understand why you did it. And if either of us lost our minds enough that we thought blowing up a Chantry and killing dozens of people was a proper solution, you would do the same to us.”

“I could never-!”

“Brother,” Bethany wiped a tear from his cheek. She spoke softly, comfortingly. “Did you ever think you could do such a thing to Anders? I know you cared for him deeply. Despite how much you disagreed, he was very important to you, just like me. Just like all of us.”

“Even though we are as different as hot and cold, I know you care for me, as well,” the other mage agreed. “I still cannot forgive what has transpired since we met, but I know everything you did was because you thought it was for my own good. You have never hid that.”

Lance nodded before standing again. “After what he did, they’ll never allow him to have a proper burial. But… Merrill, he was no enemy of the Dalish. Would you be willing to give him a burial?”

“Of course. For his crimes he does not deserve to be lost in the afterlife.”

 

:: _END FLASHBACK_ ::

 

They had conducted the funeral two days later. Lance invited those he knew would honor him. The entire party was brought in, except for Fenris and Sebastian who they knew wouldn’t have taken it well. Donnic stayed behind as well to keep Fenris busy. Varric spread the word in the underground, drawing refugees and the downtrodden he’d helped to come as well. The information was carefully guarded; not wanting to think what would happen if those who supported the Chantry caught wind of them burying the man who had destroyed it. Even so, they were surprised to find Nathanial Hale show up along with a couple of other Wardens they may or may not have met before. It was hard to tell at times. One was carrying a remorseful looking cat he could only guess was Anders’ Sir Pounce-a-Lot. He had to admit, a more dignified looking creature he’d never seen.

“Lance?”

He glanced down into his lover’s eyes.

“You’re so distant tonight. I’m starting to get jealous of a dead man.”

The man actually smiled at that, laying back and drawing Fenris down with him. “You shouldn’t be. Even in life he couldn’t win over you. I just wish someone could have saved him like I saved you.”

“There was no saving him. Maybe if someone had been there to tell him what an idiotic move it would be to allow a spirit to take over his mind.”

“Hmm,” Lance didn’t think it was that simple. Anders had been such a kind soul, perhaps Justice wasn’t the best case scenario but it seemed as if that it could have been much worst. Something far more sinister could have taken advantage of his generosity. “Anders and you really are far more alike than you think.”

Fenris gave him an indignant look. “I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. I’m alright now. Go back to sleep.”

The elf pouted, laying his head on Lance’s chest. He decided to let it go, though. Lance was back to being his usual, cheerful self. That was all that mattered.

Wasn’t it?


End file.
